


Opposites

by wavewright62



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Drama, Pre-Canon, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavewright62/pseuds/wavewright62
Summary: They say that opposites attract, but the corollary is that likes repel.





	Opposites

**Author's Note:**

> This serves as my entry for O in the SSSS Alphabet Soup & Singalong Challenge.

“You mean fraternal.”

“What?”

“Fraternal twins. Born from two different zygotes, whereas identical twins come from the same zygote that splits.”

“No, poop-face, that’s not what I meant.”

“If I am a poop-face, so are you, because we’re identical twins.”

“I said ‘opposite’ because I meant opposite. We’re _opposite_ twins.”

“How do you figure?”

To an outside observer, it would be difficult to tell the two eight-year-olds apart, as they clambered over the fence and made their way home across the paddocks. They both had the same pale sandy hair curling over their collars, they both had the same half-closed hazel green eyes, they both had the determined set of their chin. The only difference between Mikkel and Michael Madsen was the scowl on Mikkel’s face contrasting with the more cheerful expression on Michael.

Mikkel answered, “But we’re _nothing_ alike. You love school, I hate it. You’re good at sports, I’m not. You’re smart, I’m not.”

Michael interrupted, “That’s not true, you are smart. You just don’t show it.”

“I hate school.”

“You already said that. You know what a zygote is, too, so you can’t be dumb.”

“I can’t help it, ‘cause you always talk about stuff like that,” Mikkel picked up a stone and threw it. “That’s another opposite, you like to hear yourself yap.”

“And _you_ have lousy aim,” Michael countered, picking up another stone. His throw landed it in a clump of grass next to where Mikkel’s stone had landed, flushing out a rabbit. They watched it hop toward then veer away from the dairy herd in the far side of the paddock, their heads moving in unison. “You also like working with the cows,” Michael said, “and I sure don’t.”

“No, they follow you,” Mikkel replied, “they only come with me if I have treats.”

“See, you remember to bring them treats. I just remember to bring Maja, it’s her they like,” Michael laughed, then held up his hand. “Hey, smell that?”

Mikkel sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything. What? The cow pats?”

“No, Mamma’s making pea soup.”

“Yum, I love pea soup!”

Michael scoffed. “I hate pea soup, it tastes like silage. You eat anything. I’d bet you’d eat the cow pats.”

Mikkel shrugged and smiled for the first time, “Is that a real bet? What will you give me if I eat one?”

“I’ll give you a million hundred thousand krønor.”

“You don’t have a million hundred thousand krønor.”

“I will when I’m a famous doctor. And then I could treat you for whatever you get for eating cow pats.”

“Ha, you wish. D’ya think I’d get cancer from it?”

Michael stroked his chin and put on the deepest voice his eight-year-old body could muster, “Indubitably. It is a well-known scientific fact that ingesting poop is bad for you and probably causes cancer.”

Mikkel laughed back at Michael, “Shows what _you_ know. Cow pats are not poop, they’re _manure,_ and that’s different.”

“Still gives you cancer if you eat it.”

“Does NOT. I dared Mille to, and she did, and she’s not dead.”

Michael was suitably horrified. “WHAT?! Mikkel!”

Mikkel held out his hands in an exaggerated shrug. “What what? It was funny.”

“No, that was mean,” Michael frowned. “Was she okay? Really?”

“Yeah, she was fine,” Mikkel snorted, “She wanted to go feed Malthe one. She made it look like a real cake, with flower petals and everything.”

“Wait, is that why you were in trouble last week? Mikkel!” Mikkel didn’t respond, but just shrugged. Michael looked chagrined. “Maybe we _are_ opposite twins.”

\-----------

Mikkel ran his hand along the back of his neck, feeling the freshly-shorn bristles standing up. He got on the bicycle and started the ride back to the farm, feeling the breeze play along his ears and neck as he rode. The back and sides were now very short, leaving him with some of his thick blond hair on top curling rakishly onto his forehead. Now no one could confuse him with Michael.

He was tired of townspeople slapping him on the back, congratulating him for his placing at the medical school in Mora. He was tired of the interested looks from the girls (and the young men) as he walked by, until they saw his toolbag and realised he was the wrong twin. Then they averted their eyes, embarrassed at their mistake. He was tired of his own mother calling out Michael’s name just about every time she laid eyes on him, and then hearing her tone change oh-so-subtly when she realised she was talking to Mikkel.

He was tired of seeing what it was like to be the opposite twin.

He’d ridden out to a barber clear on the other side of the island, just to be sure he could get this haircut out of view of prying local eyes. The barber made the appropriate noises about Mikkel’s upcoming apprenticeship with a plumber, and how useful a good plumber could be. He’d gone on to describe some difficulty with the pre-Year 0 drainage in his part of town, but Mikkel tuned out his droning voice. The barber took his money for the haircut and said, “So what should I do about that pipe?”

Mikkel had flippantly replied, “Take a sledgehammer to it. That’ll loosen up everything and get it flowing again.”

It occurred to Mikkel on the ride home that that possibly hadn’t been the best advice, but then he shrugged inwardly. He’d made no misrepresentation that he was actually a plumber yet, he had mentioned that he was only starting his apprenticeship. The man was a fool if he took the advice seriously.

He parked the bicycle in the barn and headed toward the house. Maja called out cheerfully from the washing line, “I certainly do like that haircut on you, Michael!”

He opened his mouth to retort, but heard laughter behind him. He whirled to see Michael standing on the front steps of the farmhouse. His hair was cut exactly like Mikkel’s, short back and sides, exactly the same. _How?? How does he do this?_ Mikkel had not discussed his plan with anyone.

“Ho, brother, good to see you take the sensible option,” Michael grinned. “It won’t do to get more hair in the traps then you’re taking out.”

Mikkel trudged up the steps past Michael and threw the toolbag down in the foyer. Michael followed him as he strode back to their bedroom. When Michael caught up to Mikkel, he had his arms crossed and his eyes closed, facing the window.

“Ahhh, Mikkel,” Michael flopped onto his bed, “you’ve got to admit it’s funny. I swear I didn’t know you had an appointment too, and he didn’t mention you were coming in.” He put his hands behind his head and grinned up at Mikkel, “Damn, that is a good haircut on me. Despite what you say, we really are identical twins.”

Mikkel half-opened his eyes and looked at Michael, and without a word stalked out of the bedroom and locked himself into the bathroom. He despondently eyed up the razor he and Michael were only recently starting to use more regularly.

Half an hour later, Mille & Malthe pounded on the bathroom door. “Mikkel! Get out, I need to pee real bad!,” Mille shouted.

“I’m next,” Malthe said.

“No, I just need to pee, you’ll stink it up,” Mille shot back.

“Nuh-UH! Girls are way stinkier than boys,” Malthe retorted.

The bathroom door opened. Mille and Malthe forgot their argument as they gaped up at Mikkel. He glowered down his nose at them, from under bushy eyebrows and an expanse of freshly shaven skin. He growled a single word, “Next.” Striding back down the corridor to his room, he grimaced at the spots of blood on the towel from the nicks in his scalp.

When Mikkel walked into their bedroom, Michael glanced up quickly from the book he’d picked up, then did a double-take and opened his eyes wide at the sight of his bald twin. When he recovered himself, he joked, “Well, don’t expect me to match you there, Mikkel. We’re not _that_ identical.”

“No, I don’t expect you will,” Mikkel allowed himself a small smile, “because we’re opposites.”

\---------------

“I think that maybe you’ve had enough there, Madsen.” The publican said it kindly but firmly. The young fellow at the corner table was a regular – he’d even given him a job here for a while – but enough was enough, it was time to get him out. He wasn’t often a big drinker, but every now and then he would go on a bender, usually after losing a job. This bender had lasted the better part of three days.

“I’m Mikkel Madsen,” the blond man rumbled, his voice rough with liquor and disuse, _“Mikkel.”_ He made no move to get up. “I’m not Michael.”

“Yeah, I know.” The publican knew Michael Madsen, Mikkel’s brother. Who didn’t? The dashing young doctor was very well-known all over Bornholm. He’d read in the paper that Michael Madsen was working on a cure for the Rash, and was now part of the exciting reclamation effort on the mainland, trying to find anything from Year 0. It was enough to make a Dane’s heart swell with pride, thinking of such a fine and glorious effort.

“We’re twins, you know,” Mikkel fixed him with one bleary eye, “opposite twins.”

“Really? I did not know that,” the publican shrugged, “but come on, it’s time to-“

Two patrons walked into the bar, prompting the publican to leave Mikkel to go serve them. The men were agitated, and talking loudly about Kastrup. Two more stevedores came in, distraught, and soon the whole bar was buzzing about the news coming in. The expeditionary force had been routed, with heavy casualties. Survivors had managed to be evacuated, too few.

Mikkel swayed up to the bar and listened to the stories coming in. Some of it was outlandish and obviously nonsense, stories of ghosts and possessed beasts. Some of it Mikkel could have verified, but he chose not to reveal that he had been dismissed from the force three days ago. He listened in silence, but slipped out after a few hours. By that time many of the patrons were roaring drunk and crying for the heroes of Kastrup, but Mikkel was sober.

Sunrise saw Mikkel standing by the foreshore, with his hands in the pockets of his woollen military coat, looking across the water. Mikkel was safe and alive, and Michael was once again the opposite twin.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise a Danish house would likely have its toilet in a separate room from the bathroom. Indulge me a little.


End file.
